Short poems

Deer! – A perfect ending.

I had the privilege of working with a small team of grounsdmen for a beautiful area in Kent for a few weeks. The grounds contained a private golf course and some stunning scenery the likes of which I’ve never seen previously and likely will not get to see again. Contained within over a hundred acres of land were deers, foxes, shrews and other animals. I was lucky enough to be approaching the ninth hole (a beautiful view of rolling hills and cottages) when two deer jumped out framing the view in an iconic picture. They froze and stood looking at me for several seconds and then just ran off. It was enough time for me to commit it to memory permanently, and to think I was actually getting paid to do that job. How lucky. Five minutes before my last time on site I was called over by another Groundsman. “Shhhh” he whispered pointing down a tree covered shingle bed pathway. I popped my head beneath the shadowy trees and saw the biggest deer I’ve ever seen. He just stood looking at us for at least thirty seconds and then just vanished. Perfect ending to a great job.

Deer!

18/05/18

Deer! Be still my beating heart and walk don’t run.

Tiptoe before they’re gone.

Don’t capture just confine this bliss to memory.

Photograph in snapshot form this art before me.

Keep the storm still of this wonderous hierarchy.

Add to this a hidden tunnel of majestic awareness.

Like a unicorn in the pleasure dome with no horn I’m called forth.

“Shhhh” he whispered pointing to a different lane.

There he stood all perfect.

In my mind like the rain.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems, Short poems

It’s the end of an era.

It’s the end of an era.

03/04/18

It’s the end of an era.

A sticky eraser down the sofa to be tipped.

A stripper who’s sixty all wrinkled and ripped.

It’s the end of an era.

A here’s where the story ends.

Let’s start again.

Let’s make amends.

It’s the end of an era.

I don’t like loose ends.

Let’s pretend I care as much as you think I should.

Let’s pretend your files are both accurate and good.

Let’s pretend I’m not craving your blood.

It’s the end of an era.

For you.

© G.P Williamson 2018

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poems, Short poems

Thankyou.

Thankyou.

21/06/15

If tonight you were to vanish.

A few stars would twinkle dim.

I’d ache a little piece inside.

A part of me would thin.

Bring out that shining rainbow.

Progress through all the dirt.

You are the pot of gold.

You eased many of my hurts.

Thankyou for the memories.

Bless you for the drink.

I’m honored for the chats,

and how you taught me to think.

© G.P Williamson 2017

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poems

Did you?

Did you?

01/11/17

Did you make space in your heart for you to fit?

Once you’d opened up like a paper man did you make a place for it to hang?

Hold too tightly and you’ll break clean in two.

That won’t do.

That won’t do.

Did you?

Did you keep the coat with your name in?

The one that’s just for you?

For times of trouble in winter for things to see you through.

Did you?

Did you keep the little book of memories to reread over cocoa?

To reminisce the kindling bask in the warmth and glow.

Did you?

Did you leave space again for when you’re back complete?

Space for another love who you are yet to meet?

Did you?

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

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poems, Short poems

She forgets his name.

She forgets his name.

29/09/17

She simply forgets his name.

The smell of him.

His clothes, the fragrance he wore.

How he walked, danced.

How he spoke, how he swore.

They all just ceased to be – like before.

Before he existed, before he was real,

before she enlisted, before she could feel.

Before she was herself.

She knew her own worth.

before she had full love.

before she was cursed.

He simply ceased to be as she walked away.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

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Alone was all he knew.

Alone was all he knew.

04/10/17

They made him kneel.

They made him pray.

His smile never went away.

They made him promise.

He often swore.

Swore like he never had before.

Stoic adversary a creek he dug alone.

His friendship a silken scarf, woven from the bone.

A curled lip.

A slammed down hand.

Clawing dirt and grit and ground.

A pleasured hope, a rising damp a chance to go another lap.

They made him kneel.

They made him pray.

His smile never went away.

 

Copyright G.P Williamson 2017

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Coffin Lid

Coffin Lid

24/06/2017

I can’t be the one to close the coffin lid.

I can’t because I’ll remember your eyes.

The way they used to look at me, and how they look at me now in my mind’s eye when I’ve not even thought about closing yet for fear,

fear of penetrating the cling film lid of your beauty.

Beauty which held a building, made a flat a home an apartment a womb, mind a soul and a family a tomb.

Beauty which would blossom if you’d let us live.

Forget it.

Instead we make beds for empty spaces, time killing eclipses where legs don’t run races.

Sweet goodnights with no kisses and two faces.

I can’t close the lid for it holding the rose we proposed.

The butterfly kisses on cake facet mixes and wall’s we affixed, painting’s transfixed of photo’s – we exist!

Before we betwixt, half way down the list where now you resist the touch of my kiss.

I can’t close the lid.

Rise from the ashes!

This family bashing is causing alarm our foundation is crashing whilst you’re just relaxing, doesn’t it mean a thing?

This wedding ring?

Your pheonix won’t sing to your last hopeful king?

Suffocating in style the cover’s worthwhile.

The writing does suffer as I watch all the others, Where I seem to smother you, still do not bother.

Aaaargh! I’d growl to the ether if the spirits were kind but this is not our first time at rewind.

I’m better off unable.

A dead horse in a stable.

I’m here to be used but I’d rather be intune to a respected connection a belonging with you.

I can’t close the lid.

F*ck you I’m past caring.

My daughter’s my heartbeat and that life I am sharing.

 

© G.P Williamson 2017

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